


'Tis the Season

by amber2483



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber2483/pseuds/amber2483
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic request asking for a snowball fight between Ichabod and Abbie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Tis the Season

**Author's Note:**

> A very short drabble/one shot that I wrote back in December. An Ichabbie snowball fight was requested and well, here it is! Nothing major. Just some fluff.

Ichabod Crane has been through war. He’s witnessed many things upon the battlefield; fear, anger, determination, and death.

And though it’s been some time since he’s been a part of something like that, he knows that he’ll soon face something similar again.

Those thoughts, however, remain far from his mind. It’s what’s happening _now_ that has him pressed against a tree, bark digging uncomfortably in his back, as his heart quickens and his breath comes out in rapid puffs. He closes his eyes, says a silent prayer for the fifth time and readies himself to meet his fate.

The first hit is the one the stuns him the most. It makes him inhale sharply, stumble backwards, his shoulder becomes numb from the impact. He pushes himself forward, his feet slipping beneath the ice, and then he feels the second hit, right under his right rib and all the air leaves his body in one giant whoosh.

He scrambles against the ground, the knees on his trousers are soaked through and his fingers are numb against the cold as they curl around the freezing snow and ball into a fist. His first snowball is a tiny thing, a runt, but it’s packed solid and weighs heavily in his hand. Ichabod reels back and releases it, letting out a triumphant cry as the audible thud indicates it’s hit its intended target.

“Oh, hell no!” Abigal Mills yells disbelievingly, and Ichabod chuckles at the look of shock on her face.

“Didn't think I had it in me, did you, Lieutenant?” Ichabod taunts, packing another snowball tight in his fist. “Need I remind you of who I am? I am Ichabod Crane. I was —”

The hit to the shoulder is nothing compared to a hit to the face. Ichabod finds himself spitting the snow out of his mouth as he shakes off the ringing in his ears, just in time to hear the peal of Abbie’s laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, Crane.” She snickers. “Heard it all before! Your presence on the battlefield brought quaking soldiers to their knees; you were George Washington’s bff, which is pretty impressive all in itself, but I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”

Oh, it was _on._

 

\-----

Ichabod knew from that day one that if he could choose who’d be by his side to fight the looming apocalypse for all of eternity, it would be Abigal Mills. No question. She’s a fire cracker who stands her ground, and keeps him sane; she sees logic when he’s blinded by emotion; she levels him when he finds himself stumbling around this all too new world. She’s his reasoning, his rock, hell, she’s his anchor.

Not to mention, for being a woman with such a small stature, Abbie Mills was a force to be reckoned with; one with a scarily accurate aim.

He considers throwing in the towel and just admitting (just this once) that she wins. Where Ichabod’s tall and lanky, Abbie’s short and petite; it affords her an advantage, he thinks; easier to duck from impending snowballs when you weren't that far from the ground.

“Are you – that was my _head_ you just aimed for!” Ichabod yells as he ducks from yet another snowball.

“All’s fair, Crane!” Abbie retorts, chucking another one his way.

He ducks and dodges, maneuvering swiftly, in hopes to inching closer to her. Another snowball misses and Ichabod gasps in horror. “You – you can’t aim _there_!”

“Sorry!” Abbie laughs. “I didn't mean to aim there. Okay,” She concedes at his withering look, holding up her forefinger and thumb, spreading them a mere inches a part. “Maybe I did. Just a little bit.”

They exchange more snowballs, Ichabod with a little more determination now than ever, and Ichabod knows he’s winning when he finds her weak spot ( _Not the hair, Crane! Not. The. Hair_.) and by the hours end, it’s grown dark and cold, and Ichabod feels anything but.

They've agreed to a truce for the time being, both settled on the ground, adrenaline still pumping languidly through their veins as Ichabod packs snowballs with his hands and Abbie’s tracing doodles in the snow.

“I can’t believe you aimed for my… _bits._ ” Ichabod sniffs after a long stretch of silence, because really.

Abbie laughs and shakes her head, and she peers at him from under her lashes. “Oh come on. I didn't hit it!”

“Luckily!” Ichabod counters.

“I’m determined.” Abbie shrugs and gives him another half smile. “And competitive. Always have been.”

His interest is piqued, and he’s left wanting, just as he always is, when Abbie manages to open up and share a sliver of something about herself to him. He’s sure one day she’ll tell him more when she’s ready, and knows he’ll be right there, ears open and eager.

“You’re quite a formidable foe, Miss Mills.” Ichabod murmurs begrudgingly.

“Thanks, Crane.” Abbie says with a smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

“Oh, ouch!” Hand over heart, Ichabod teeters over and plays wounded.

“Hey, all’s fair, remember?” Abbie reminds him, but he can hear the smile in her voice and the barbs of his fake wounds have magically healed.

“Yes, that’s true, isn't it?” Ichabod says, remembering such words from a long distant past. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Before she can respond, Ichabod does something that would make him bow his head in shame; does something that he’s sworn he’d never do.

He cheats.

He can’t help but let out a large laugh at Abbie’s face as she absorbs the shock of the snow dripping down her back. Her eyes are wide and her lips parted, Ichabod suddenly feels as though he were the one doused with snow, at the urge he has to pull her closer to him and kiss her; at the sudden need he feels wipe the cold water from her skin and warm her in his arms.

“You’re going to pay for that, you know that right?” Abbie says with a scary seriousness to her voice.

“Oh, I know.” Ichabod says mildly. And he does know. She’s going to make him pay dearly, but it was worth it.

So _very_ worth it.


End file.
